“I knew less than nothing to tell.”

“You didn’t see us, last night, as we slipped away from the monu-----”

“Shut up, you sun-scorched idiot!” cried Prescott sharply, under his breath.  “I don’t want to know anything about it now.”

“Oh, that’s all right, I suppose,” said Mr. Furlong, looking furtively towards Bert Dodge, who was standing some distance off.

The very thought that he was now practically certain, morally, at least, who one of the perpetrators of the monument affair was, made Dick uneasy.  He knew there was still a danger that he and Greg might be summoned again to the tent of the O.C.

Bert Dodge saw, from a distance, the whispered talk between Dick and Mr. Furlong; he also saw the latter’s quick, stealthy glance.

Now, Dodge, from having tried to visit Furlong the night before, knew that the young man had returned from the hop, for he had seen Furlong go into his tent shortly after ten.  Dodge also knew that Furlong had been absent from camp at the time of the monument discharges.

“Furlong is one of the offenders,” thought Bert, “and Prescott is roasting him about it.  I suppose our highly conceited class president thinks it his place to lecture all the jokers in the class.  But how would it be possible, without getting myself into trouble, to pass on the hint that Prescott knows more than he is telling?”

It didn’t take a fellow with all of Cadet Dodge’s natural meanness very long to invent a plan that looked feasible.

Sauntering along near the guard tent, Dodge encountered a classmate with whom he was on fairly good terms, Mr. Harper, who was waiting to fall in when the next relief of the guard was called.

“Prescott was on the grill last night, I hear,” began Bert.

“So I hear,” nodded Harper.

“I guess he dodged the O.C. cold,” chuckled Dodge.

“He denied any knowledge of the monument business, I’ve heard,” replied Harper.

Bert chuckled.

“That sounds like old Prescott,” laughed Bert.  “And I’ll bet he managed it without telling any lies.  I know Prescott of old.  Our family once lived in the same town with him, you know.  Prescott was one of the biggest jokers in our High School.  And he never got caught in those days.  Prescott was always the artful dodger.”

“What do you mean by that!” asked Harper.  “You don’t mean that Prescott is untruthful.”

“Oh, no, not at all,” laughed Bert.  “But, if I could put him on the rack, and get the whole thing, unreservedly, out of Richard Prescott, I’d be willing to bet, in advance, that he knows just who set off the cannon crackers last night.”

Dodge was careful not to speak so that he could be overheard by Prescott or Furlong, yet he was certain that, on the still morning air around the guard tent, his voice was carrying sufficiently to penetrate to the other side of the khaki walls of the O.C.’s tent.